


King Of The Nile

by watanuki_sama



Category: Common Law
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, Wes has issues, Wesvis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Wes denied himself something that would make him happy, and one time he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King Of The Nile

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr on 04.30.14.
> 
> Also posted on FF.net under the penname 'EFAW' on 01.01.15.
> 
> Title is based on that well-known saying, “Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”

_“The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves. We live in denial of what we do, even what we think. We do this because we’re afraid.”_  
 _—Richard Bach_

\---

1.

\---

Travis unbuckles and climbs out of the car almost as soon as Wes has stopped. Pretty much immediately, Wes’s head pops up, glaring at him over the roof of the car. “Where are you going?” he demands with narrowed eyes.

“Um.” Travis points to the gas station. “Inside?”

His partner scowls at him and says sharply, “The last time you went into a gas station alone, you held it up.”

“Man, that was for the greater good. And it was one time! Let it go!”

Wes thinks about it for all of half a second. “Hmm. Nope, never.” He points across the car. “Just wait right there.”

Travis thinks about just going inside anyway. Then he thinks about the _spectacularly_ pissy mood Wes will be in if he does, and he stays where he is.

Wes gets the pump going, locks the car, and starts walking. “Come on.”

“A chaperone? Seriously?” Travis scowls at his partner. “What is wrong with you?”

“I just remembered something I wanted to get,” Wes says loftily, pushing the door open and striding inside.

“You really need to work on selling your bullshit,” Travis declares, veering automatically for the chips aisle.

Wes ignores him and heads back to the coolers to keep up the charade. Travis shakes his head and turns his attention to the real dilemma at hand: ranch or nacho cheese?

He finally settles on ranch and heads to the candy aisle, because salty and sweet, it’s a flavor combination made in heaven. As it turns out, the candy aisle is right next to the registers, which is where Travis sees Wes.

His partner is standing in front of the counter, a bottle of water in one hand and a Snickers bar in the other. He’s staring at the Snickers with his _Contemplating the meaning of life_ face on, which is _way_ more consideration than a simple candy bar deserves. Only Wes would have an existential crisis over chocolate and nougat and peanuts.

Travis grabs a bag of M&Ms and comes up behind his partner. “You gonna get that?” he asks, a little curious. It’s not Wes’s usual fare, but Travis has seen Wes indulge before so who knows.

Wes starts like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t and quickly sets the candy bar down. “No, I was…no. I’m not.”

Travis looks between the candy and his partner. “Dude, if you want the Snickers, buy the Snickers. I promise I won’t make fun of you.”

Wes’s face twists a little, but for the life of him Travis can’t name the emotion. “I don’t want the Snickers bar, Travis,” Wes says, in a voice that implies _I kind of want the Snickers bar_. But before Travis can point this hypocrisy out, Wes turns to the cashier and plops his water on the counter. “Just this, please.”

Travis shrugs it off as Wes being Wes and doesn’t think much of it.

\---

2.

\---

By the time they get to the table, Travis is fed up. As soon as they’re seated, Travis rips open the package of cookies and unceremoniously dumps one of the two-pack on Wes’s tray. “Here.”

Wes stares at the cookie on his tray and blinks. “What’s this?”

“It’s a chocolate chip cookie, dumbass.”

“I know what it _is_ , Travis. Why is it on my tray?”

“Because,” Travis says, in a tone normally reserved for very slow, thick people. “You want it.”

Wes blinks at the cookie again, frowning a little. “I don’t want a cookie.”

“Yes you do.”

The frown gets aimed in Travis’s direction. “If I wanted a cookie, I would have bought it myself.”

“Hah!” Travis points accusingly with the straw he’s currently unwrapping. “You say that, and yet, you didn’t buy it, because…well, I really don’t know. It’s unhealthy or something. Point is, you want a cookie. Now you have one.” He pushes the straw through the lid and takes a long, satisfied slurp of his soda.

Wes’s frown is somewhere between _I have no idea what you’re talking about_ and _You’re being stupid and annoying and I don’t like it_. “Travis,” he says slowly, “I don’t. Want. The cookie.”

“You _do_ want the cookie. I watched you pick up the package four times, and then you put it down four times. I know those signs. You have a sugar craving and you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

His partner gapes at him. “You know when I’m craving sugar?”

Travis rolls his eyes. “Dude, it’s been seven years, of _course_ I do. I also know that if you _don’t_ satisfy the craving, you’ll be a hundred times grouchier than usual. Last time that happened, you made a rookie cry.” He fixes a steely glare on Wes. “So eat the damn cookie.”

Wes tries to nudge the cookie back onto Travis’s tray. “I don’t want it—“”

“Eat the cookie or I swear to God I’ll shove it down your throat, don’t think I won’t.”

Slim fingers pause. Then, with a heavy _I’m only indulging you so you stop_ sigh, Wes picks up the cookie and takes a bite. Not even a real bite. A micro-bite. He raises one _Are you happy now?_ eyebrow, and Travis nods approvingly and starts eating his sandwich.

He figures it’s just a thing. It seems like a very Wes thing to do, not buying sugar or candy even if he wants it. Because Wes is all about healthy stupid food like salads and sushi and he only eats other things when there’s no other options. So yeah, it makes sense that Wes won’t buy the cookies even if he was craving it.

That’s a stupid reason to not buy chocolate chip cookies, but whatever. It still makes sense. And Wes is eating the damn cookie, so Travis puts it out of his mind.

\---

3.

\---

What makes less sense is when it’s not about food. Because denying delicious sugary snacks, that’s such a Wes thing to do it hurts.

Denying a houseplant in need? Not so much.

It goes like this:

“Mitchell!”

They both look up as Warner trots over, a potted plant in his hands. Travis may not know much about potted plants, but he’s pretty sure the leaves aren’t supposed to be that milky yellow-green shade.

He can almost see Wes’s hands twitching to rescue the poor thing and nurse it back to health.

“What’s that?” Wes asks, nodding at the drooping yellow plant.

Warner holds it up. “A fern? I think. Maybe. Whatever. My ex gave it to me, and now that we’re not together I don’t need to keep it, so do you want it?” He holds out the pot. “I figure, with your green thumb and all…”

Wes looks at the plant, caught somewhere between wistful and longing. Travis knows that look. It’s the look Wes wears when he’s being tempted by something. Usually it’s food, and usually Wes says no. But this is a _plant_. Travis is certain Wes will take it.

So it’s really quite a surprise when Wes sighs and says, “Sorry, Warner. I would, but I don’t exactly have the space.”

Understanding dawns on Warner’s face. “Right! ‘Cuz of the hotel. Sorry, I forgot.” He turns away, pausing long enough to say, “If you change your mind, lemme know. I doubt I’ll be able to foist it off on anyone else.” Wes waves a finger to show he’s heard, and Warner heads back to his desk.

Travis waits a full minute before he says, “It’s not that big of a plant, Wes. You could totally fit it in your hotel room.”

Wes busies his hands with papers and doesn’t look up. “I know.”

“So why’d you say no?”

The stapler clacks and Wes still doesn’t lift his head. “I don’t have time to take care of it.”

Travis’s eyebrows go up. “Seriously? Dude, it’s a _plant_. How much time do you really need?”

“More than I have,” Wes says sharply, in his _That’s the end of this conversation_ tone.

Ever one to ignore obvious hints, Travis goes on. “I think a plant would be good for you, man. It’d give you something to obsess over, besides Alex…’s yard,” he adds as Wes level’s a razor-sharp glare at him.

“I’m not taking the plant, Travis, and that’s final.” Spine stiff, Wes lurches to his feet and stalks to the break room.

Travis stares thoughtfully after him. Candy and junk food is one thing, but this is…

Three times is more than coincidence. Three times is a pattern.

It takes Wes ten minutes to return, and he doesn’t even make it to his desk before he stops dead in his tracks. “I told you I didn’t want the plant, Travis,” he says evenly, like he’s biting back angry words.

“Oh, I know.” Travis grins cheerfully, patting the orange pot. “This is for me.”

“You.”

“Yup!” Travis’s grin is all good cheer. “Way I figure it, it’s the perfect pet! It doesn’t make noise, it won’t have accidents on my carpet, and I won’t have to buy expensive pet food for it.”

Wes’s face pinches. His hand tightens on his mug. “Do you even know how to take care of a plant?”

“Oh, it can’t be _that_ hard.” Travis pokes one chartreuse leaf. “I just gotta water it, what, once, twice a week?”

The sound Wes makes is decidedly pained. “Maybe if it were a cactus.” He takes a shaky sip of his coffee, gathering his composure. “For that, it’s twice a day, water it twice a _day_. And it probably needs fresh soil, too.”

Travis makes a disgruntled sound. “No, the point is to have a pet I _don’t_ have to spend any money on, Wes.”

“It needs fresh soil or it’ll die no matter what you do.” Wes finally unsticks his feet from the floor and turns to his own desk.

Travis pokes another leaf. “I think I’ll call it Francesca!”

“Oh my god.” Wes whirls around and snatches the pot right off Travis’s desk. “If I leave this with you it’ll be dead in a month.”

“Take care of her!” Travis chirps, waving his fingers. Wes just flips him the bird and carefully sets the pot on the edge of his desk.

Travis sits back like that wasn’t his plan all along, carefully smug but trying not to show it because that will just piss Wes off. None of them need that, even if Wes does have a new plant to vent his frustrations on.

He watches his partner examine the plant, and he thinks.

Three times is a pattern. And it’s a pattern Travis isn’t sure he likes.

\---

4.

\---

It’s not just a pattern, Travis quickly realizes. It’s a _habit_.

Now that he’s watching, he doesn’t know how he could have missed it before. Wes does it _all the time_ , picks something up and then puts it right back own. Or sometimes he won’t even pick it up; sometimes Wes’s hands will just twitch towards it, and he’ll look at it with an expression that says, _I want it but I can’t have it_. Like he’s purposely holding back from buying it, even though he _knows_ he’d enjoy it.

This is never more evidenced than the thing with the tie.

“I hate court,” Travis groans as Wes drags him into the department store. “I hate ties. Why do I have to wear a tie to court, Wes?”

“Because it’s _professional_ , Travis.” Wes pauses to glance at the signposts, like he doesn’t know already know where everything in this store is. “The jury doesn’t know you’re a twelve-year-old pretending to be an adult, and we’re going to keep up that illusion as long as possible.”

Travis groans again as Wes picks a direction and starts walking, dragging his feet. “Okay, but shopping for ties is almost as bad as wearing them. Why do I have to get a new tie?”

“ _Ties_ , Travis, you’re getting more than one.” Wes drags him to the escalator. “And you need new ones because you only have two. One of them clashes with three-quarters of your wardrobe and the other one is hideous.”

Travis can’t argue with that. He also isn’t surprised in the slightest that Wes knows what clothes he owns. “And I can’t borrow one of your ties because…”

“Because the last time you borrowed one of my ties you got a huge mustard stain in the middle. Not a risk I’m willing to take.” Wes stops with a nod. “Okay, here we are. What’s your budget?”

Travis looks up—and blanches. There are more ties here than he’s ever seen in his life. “Oh god, this is hell, isn’t it?”

“Haha, very cute. Budget?”

“For a _tie_? Like, fifteen bucks. Max.”

Wes makes a long-suffering sound and guides Travis to one end of the tie section (an entire _section! Why?_ ) “Okay. Here’s the section you want. Find at least three you like, then come to me for approval.”

Travis could be annoyed at Wes for deciding he’s the arbitrator of Travis’s wardrobe, but instead of feels a brief surge of apprehension. “You’re leaving me?”

Wes looks at the ties with a sneer on his face. “Those wretched scraps of fabric they’re selling as ties are actually painful to look at. I’ll be over here.” He pats Travis’s arm reassuringly—and condescendingly. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You’ve kept this farce of adulthood all these years. You can manage a little longer.”

And with that, Wes abandons him to tie hell. Travis groans, looking at the neverending racks. With a frown, he gives a cursory sweep through the closest rack, grabbing the first five that catch his eye. Maybe he’ll get lucky and these will meet Wes’s approval, and they can get the hell out of here.

He finds Wes in less than a minute, but for a moment he can’t make his presence known, despite his eagerness to get out of here. Not when Wes looks like _that_.

Wes is standing in front of the expensive ties, a slip of cobalt fabric sliding over his hands. As Travis watches, Wes holds it up to his collar and looks in the mirror, and all of a sudden Travis understands what ties can do for a man.

The tie is the perfect shade of blue to bring out Wes’s eyes. But it doesn’t just make Wes’s eyes pop, it makes them _burn_ , a fiery blue passion lit from the inside out. And then there’s the rest, a subtle transformation Travis wouldn’t believe if he wasn’t watching; Wes straightens his perfect posture just a smidge more, squares his shoulders, and tilts his head back a fraction, and Travis’s throat goes dry. He can see it, the force in the courtroom Wes used to be, a dynamo lawyer who won more cases than he lost. Travis has seen Wes whip out his lawyer knowledge on people, but _this_ is…this is like a superpower.

_At least_ , Travis muses, _one of us is going to walk away happy_. Because there’s no way Wes is going to _not_ buy that tie. No way.

And then Wes sighs, and his shoulders drop half an inch and the light in his eyes goes out. As Travis watches, Wes carefully hangs the tie back up, fingers running over the fabric with an expression Travis recognizes. He’s seen it on every foster kid he’s ever known, that wistful desire for something he just can’t have.

But Wes can definitely afford that tie, and he should totally get that tie, but he’s not because…

Travis can’t even begin to guess.

But he’s determined to find out.

\---

5.

\---

Wes answers the door in lounge pants, a t-shirt, and bedhead, making this officially the most rumpled Travis has ever seen him. He blinks for a second, then asks, “Travis?” in a voice that says _I may be hallucinating because I’m not sure why else my partner would be here on our day off_.

Travis grins and pushes his way inside. Wes lets him. “You doing anything today?”

“Um…”

“What am I thinking, of course you aren’t. Well.” Travis pulls out two tickets from his jacket. “Now you are.”

Wes blinks again, looking utterly baffled. “Um.”

Travis bounces on his toes, looking around the hotel room. “Let’s get you dressed. Where are your pants? This drawer?” He opens a drawer at random, sees socks (neatly paired up and ordered by color, the neat-freak), and shuts it with a snap. “Nope. Maybe this one—”

“Travis.” Wes puts a hand on his arm, gently stopping him. “What are you talking about?”

Travis pulls the tickets out again. “I have, in my hands, two tickets to the spy exhibit at the science museum. And you and I, my friend, are going to go.”

Wes stares at the tickets a moment before narrowing his eyes. “What was her name?”

“Whose name?” Travis asks with his most innocent voice.

“The girl you were going to take but can’t because yet another short-lived romance of yours failed.” The blonde crosses his arms, staring at Travis with the most judgiest face to ever judge.

“There’s not…okay, her name was Maya, and it wasn’t my fault she had a boyfriend she didn’t tell me about. Weeees!” Travis shines, following his partner into the bedroom. “ _Spies_!”

“I don’t want to go just because you had no one else to take, Travis,” Wes says with a glower, heading for the adjoining bathroom.

Travis doesn’t let this deter him, leaning against the doorframe. “Man, it’s not like you’re the bottom of the list. You were always my second choice.”

Wes’s hands pause mid-air. “Really?” he asks, and his voice is kind of funny, but Travis is too excited to figure out why.

“Of course. An exhibit about _spies_? There’s no one else I’d rather see it with.” A pause. “Okay, there was one person but that doesn’t count.” He waves the tickets enticingly. “Come on, you know what want to. I’ll even buy lunch.”

And Travis can _see_ Wes’s resolve cracking, can see the desire on his partner’s face, and he knows they’ll have an awesome time because _spies_. Wes is a total nerd for that kind of stuff.

He’s already planning where they’ll go to lunch when Wes sighs and puts his hands on the counter. “I can’t, Travis.”

Travis’s brain screeches to a halt. “What? Why not?”

“Because I can’t.”

“What, you don’t want to owe me? ‘cuz you can totally pay me back for the ticket, Wes, if it bothers you that much, that’s cool with me.”

“That’s not…” Wes’s face flickers, a mix of emotions Travis can only catch a glimpse of. There’s longing and desire, but there’s also frustration and remorse and…guilt? What’s Wes got to be _guilty_ for?

As he watches, Wes’s fists clench and his jaw tightens, like he has to brace himself, like he has to hold himself back.

“I can’t go, Travis.” He turns and gives Travis a smile that actually hurts to receive, somewhere down in Travis’s chest.

When Travis doesn’t say anything, Wes shifts, dropping his gaze and running his hands through his hair. “You can take someone else. I’m sure there are loads of people who’d want to go.”

“But I want to go with you,” Travis says, trying not to sound petulant.

Wes winces a little at that and starts herding Travis out. “Well, too bad. I can’t.”

“What have you got going on that’s better than this, huh?” Travis tries to brace his feet, but Wes can be freakishly strong when he wants to, and he’s having no trouble hauling Travis to the door.

“Absolutely nothing,” Wes chirps, pushing Travis into the hall. Before Travis can catch his bearings, Wes has shut the door, and Travis can hear him slipping the chain on.

“What is _with_ you, man?” Frustrated, Travis kicks the door, which does absolutely nothing. “It’s like you don’t even want to have fun!”

A lightbulb explodes in his brain, and Travis frees, staring at the door. He puts together the pieces, all the little thing he’s noticed; the candy and the tie, Francesca the fern and the super awesome spy exhibit. The twitching fingers, stopped before they can reach out, and the forlorn, longing expressions that cross Wes’s face when he thinks no one’s looking.

It’s not _fun_ Wes is avoiding, he realizes with a sinking stomach.

It’s _happiness_.

\---

+1

\---

“You’re in denial.”

“So you’ve said,” Wes says smoothly, starting the car without glancing at Travis.

“Dude, no, I’m not even talking about Alex.” Travis leans back, as casual as can be. “We all know about that one.”

Wes pulls out of the parking lot with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll bite. What am I in denial about?”

“It’s not so much denial _about_. You’re just in denial. Deny _ing_ , maybe.”

Wes’s voice is quickly taking on that _Why do I even put up with you, you insufferable annoying creature?_ tone he does so well. “Then what, pray tell, am I denying, Travis?”

Travis watches Wes from the corner of his eye and says, very casually, “Happiness.”

If he wasn’t watching for it, he never would have noticed the way Wes’s eyes tighten at the corners. Direct hit.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wes says, but he can’t quite sound convincing.

“Weak, man.” Travis shakes his head sadly. “Even a baby could tell you were lying there. First step to a successful lie; you gotta at least _pretend_ to believe it.”

“It’s good to get tips from an accomplished liar,” Wes says, sweetly insincere.

“You make it sound like everything I say is a lie.” Travis bites down the flash of temper at the accusation. “And don’t think you can deflect me so easily.” Wes’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, and Travis resists the urge to scoff. Sometimes Wes isn’t subtle at all. “You, my stupid partner, are denying yourself happiness.”

“Oh, name-calling? That’s where we’re going?”

“If the shoe fits.” Travis brings his ankle up on his knee, foot resting against the dash. “I thought maybe you _couldn’t_ feel happiness, like some of your programming wasn’t up to par.”

Wes glares scorchingly at Travis’s foot. “Contrary to popular belief, Travis, I’m not _actually_ a robot.”

“But I figured it out,” Travis barrels on, ignoring Wes. “It’s not that you _can’t_ feel happiness. You won’t _let_ yourself feel it. Which includes going anywhere, buying anything, or taking whatever you think will bring you even a moment of happiness.”

It looks like it hurts, how tightly Wes is clenching his jaw. “You’re wrong,” the blonde gets out, though Travis isn’t really sure how, considering there’s no space between his gritted teeth.

“Says the king of the Nile,” Travis retorts, and this time he does scoff. “Man, you are all kinds of fucked up.”

“Hello, Pot.”

“Oh, but we’re not talking about me right now.” Travis twists as much as the seatbelt allows, staring at the side of his partner’s head. “Come on, man, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

Wes wrings the steering wheel in his hands, glaring at the stoplight like it personally offended him. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m fine. But if you think there’s something wrong, I’m surprised you’re not bringing this up in group. We know how you like to ambush me.”

“Yeah, well, I figured you’d rather not hash this out in front of everyone, but we can totally do that if you like.” Wes flinches minutely, covering it up by stepping on the gas, and Travis sighs. “Look, Wes, I know you like to punish yourself for things that aren’t actually your fault, and you have a persecution complex a mile wide, but you _are_ allowed to be happy now and then. No one’s gonna get mad at you if you buy yourself something that makes you feel good.”

Wes doesn’t say anything, but he’s staring out the window so intently he might as well be confessing everything.

Travis sighs softly. “You’ve done nothing to deserve unhappiness, Wes.”

“But I—” Wes cuts himself off, but Travis can fill in the blanks. He recognizes that dark, haunted look in Wes’s eyes.

“That wasn’t your fault, man,” Travis retorts, sharp without meaning to be. So many of Wes’s problems and insecurities stem from Anthony Padua. “That was never your fault, and it’s not fair to punish yourself for it.”

Wes twists the steering wheel, swallowing uncertainly. Travis isn’t sure how much of this is getting through, but he’s gonna keep saying it over and over until it sticks.

“Grab life by the _cojones_ , man. Buy the candy bar, take the tie, go to the exhibit. There’s absolutely no reason to hold back. Be rash. Do what makes you happy and don’t hesitate. You never know when you won’t be happy again.”

His partner takes a breath and cracks a weak smile with the corner of his mouth. “That was deep,” he says, and the moment softens into something a little less intense.

Travis leans back. “Hell yeah, that was deep. I should be writing fortune cookies.”

“That could go _so_ poorly,” Wes says dubiously, and they both chuckle. Now the moment is gone. Travis just hopes enough of it sank in to be effective.

By the time the car stops in front of Travis’s apartment, Wes has lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Hopefully Wes is pondering the wise words Travis imparted, so he doesn’t interrupt.

The blonde turns off the car and takes a deep breath. Travis doesn’t get up; Wes is gearing up to say something, he’ll wait it out.

Another breath. “I can be happy.” Wes says, more to the dash than to Travis.

“Man, not only _can_ you be happy, you _deserve_ to be happy.” _And so much more than that_ , Travis doesn’t say, because that’s a conversation for another day and Travis doesn’t want to push Wes too hard, too fast. He knows from experience that just makes Wes shut down and go cold and defensive.

Moving slowly, Wes releases the steering wheel and turns. He’s still not looking at Travis, and Travis is trying to decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing when Wes says, “I can take what I want.”

It sounds like Wes needs assurance, but if it means Wes stops holding back then he’s all for assuring Wes as much as needed. He nods eagerly. “Absolutely, man. I mean, don’t go overboard, you gotta have _some_ restraint, but don’t hold back---”

And then he can’t talk anymore because Wes is kissing him.

Travis has thought about Wes kissing him. And he’s thought about kissing Wes, but not for long because he didn’t want to take a step he couldn’t take back.

Somehow, in all those imaginings, Travis never thought Wes would kiss like _this_. It’s not restrained or poised or anything else Travis would have thought it would be; it’s messy and desperate, a clash of lips and tongues. Wes has one hand wrapped around Travis’s neck and the other twined in Travis’s hair, holding him in place as his tongue plunders Travis’s mouth.

Wes kisses Travis like he’s greedy, like this is the only kiss he’s ever going to get and he needs to make the most of it while he can.

Travis is enjoying the kiss even while it breaks his heart.

And then it’s done. Travis barely has a chance to respond before Wes is pulling back, bolting out of the car and slamming the door behind him, and that’s when Travis understand just how truly messed up this entire situation is because Wes _never_ slams his doors.

He takes a breath, runs his hand over his face, and makes a very careful decision about what he’s going to do next. Because his next choice could make or break everything.

Wes hasn’t gone far, crouched beside the driver’s door with his head in his hands. He’s breathing harshly, Travis can hear it from here, and he really hopes Wes isn’t crying because he’s shit with crying adults. Women or men, he doesn’t know how to handle them.

“So,” he says conversationally, dropping to the ground by his partner. “You, uh, you took what you wanted. And…I guess, uh, what you wanted was me?” He keeps his tone light and airy, no judgement. The last thing he wants to do is make Wes run.

Wes’s shoulders tense, and he doesn’t look up. After a moment, he nods his head, a jerky motion like he’s held together with glue and puppet strings.

“Right, right.” Travis clicks his teeth, sprawling his legs out in front of him. “Well, I gotta give you points. You definitely didn’t hold back. I mean, _damn_ , that was a hell of a kiss.”

Wes seems to shrink in on himself even more, and Travis is pretty sure that if there was a hole in the ground, Wes would happily crawl into it.

Gently, Travis nudges Wes’s shoulder. “Hey, Wes? Did it make you happy?”

Wes doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move, really, aside from a slight, nervous tremble.

“Lemme guess.” Travis leans his head back against the car. “The kiss made you happy, right? But this part, huh, this part not so much?”

That earns him another shaky nod, which Travis can totally understand. He’s been on Wes’s side of things a few times, where he’s laid his heart out on the line and he’s waiting for the other person to take it or shatter it. It always sucks.

Travis has no intention of shattering Wes.

“You know, I like to follow my own advice,” he says, inching closer to Wes. Gingerly, he reaches out, wrapping an arm around the blonde’s shoulders, and _Jesus_ , the man is tense as a bowstring. “I like to take what makes me happy. And you know what would really make me happy right now?”

“What?” Wes mumbles, muffled and distorted seeing as he’s still not looking up and is speaking into the palms of his hands.

“What would really make me happy,” Travis says, leaning in so he’s murmuring it into Wes’s ear, “is if you looked up and let me kiss you.”

Wes goes still, absolutely stock still. Travis doesn’t move, so when Wes _does_ look up, his face is _right there_ , inches away, and Travis can see the wary hope flickering in his partner’s eyes. With a grin, Travis swoops in and presses their lips together.

This kiss is about as opposite as the previous one as could be. This one is gentle, and slow, and sweet. Travis isn’t taking anything here—he’s giving, trying to convey just what they could have together if they don’t rush it and don’t get scared. And with the last kiss, Travis barely got a chance to react before Wes was pulling away; this time, they’re both engaged, Wes slowly relaxing and pressing in for more.

When Travis finally eases away, he presses his forehead against Wes’s and grins a little helplessly. “See what happens when you take what you want?” he asks, cupping Wes’s cheek in one hand. “You can be damn happy if you want.”

And Travis has the pleasure of watching Wes’s face light up, a smile crossing his face and making him glow from the inside out, and he thinks that if he’s going to rehabilitate Wes out of his pleasure-denying ways, this is a hell of a way to start.


End file.
